


What Once Was

by Grushenka



Series: What Once Was [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Ending, Childhood Memories, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Psychological Torture, Teen Angst, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grushenka/pseuds/Grushenka
Summary: These are some one-shots I wrote many moons ago. I dug them up in archives and decided to edit them and re-post. I promise I didn't steal them, I just don't use the same pseudonym anymore.





	1. The Faithful Servant

Eternal suspension is my punishment, faithfulness rewarded with cruelty and the bitter cold that seeps into my very bones. The chill of death ever eludes my hands...are they still hands? I have no touch, my hearing is silenced by the thick mass lodged in my ears. I feel nothing but pain, and yet I can almost forget what it even is to feel...it is so blurred. Blurry skin, blurry mind, blurry soul, I cannot remember my name, if I should have one.

 

Sometimes I hear the rush of wind through the trees, my crazed mind playing tricks on me as I linger forever in this glass prison. If I had a finger to touch the glass with I would, to feel something smooth and soft...like the crisp leaves, bright green jewels suspended in the sparkling light, filtering through the swaying branches. He laughs and looks back at me as my feet slip, he was always the more agile of us two. Bright blue sky mixed with brightest eyes...I see nothing but darkness now, he laughs and yet it is cold, all is cold. 

 

He splashes me with cool water and smiles, his long, sharp teeth neatly rowed beneath his full lips...so drawn, so pale now. We throw each other around in the lake, our young, strong arms wrestling one another to the ground. Only in this match of strength can I best him, he cries out as I submerge him in the crystal depths. Now it is I who am held under, drowning in this sea of oblivion. 

His sister joins us and he gathers her in his arms, dropping her shrieking form into the shallow water, his smooth ivory skin radiating with a shimmer of fine droplets. Now it is disfigured, marred by the curse and by the experiments...experiments I should have stopped, experiments to perpetuate his and my dying flesh...memories clung to tightly, like his arms around me as he bids me farewell, as he bids his people farewell. The trees were so green, the water so clear, his eyes so blue...I followed him into this living hell. 

 

She comes to me sometimes, one of her anyways, she implores me to aid her, to tell her the way out...I would laugh if only I were able. Now I can only scream, beg for mercy, beg for the deliverance I crave, I see the panic flash across her face as his boots echo against the metal floors. Death comes soon, I can see it in her eyes as I have seen many times. It is a shame, this one was nearly flawless. He follows her, he _hunts_ her, in a moment she is gone. 

He comes near me and stops. He turns to look towards me. He stares and does not move, I can see the cold sterility I became so accustomed to...but I remember when he smiled, when his eyes danced with life. I know not how long he stands there, patiently, his eyes never moving from me as I float in this cursed vessel.

He steps nearer and comes before the glass. I can faintly see the strange runes carved across his skin, odd contraptions melted into his flesh. His mask, the creation the dwarves wrought to cover his hideous countenance, is expressionless as always. Still he stares. An elegant, exquisite hand reaches up and touches the glass, the long palm pressing against the tank separating us...so many memories gone, so many things forgotten, I wonder if he can even recall my name. Childhood seems so far away, as if it were not really my past but that of another, more fortunate creature. 

 

His hands move to the edges of the mask, unstrapping the leathers and unlocking the metal rivets. The creation falls to the ground and I would gasp if only I had a mouth. A warped mind begets warped flesh, the veins bulge through the once-smooth skin and shade it a pale hue of blueish-purple, rivets tear into the scalp that once was a crown of shimmering gold locks.His once magnificent face is nothing but a shadow of rotten flesh stretched across protruding bones. His nose is missing, no hair marks his brows nor lashes, he draws back his lips in a painful sneer and I see the dark gums pulling away from the long, white teeth. 

 

He comes nearer and his breath forms a fog on the thin glass. “I will restore you my friend,” he whispers, and I wonder if it is regret that I see in his eyes. “I swear this upon the curse that gnaws at my flesh...at my sanity.” I wonder what I look like, a mass of body parts floating in a thick liquid, I wonder how I can ever be brought back. If I would even desire to be.

 

A loud crash interrupts our thoughts and he jerks away and presses his mask back against his face, strapping it and fastening it to his scalp. I watch as he rushes out, he still runs the same as he did in our childhood...I loved him, once. 

 

His dungeon is as much his prison as it is mine, if only I had known what dire consequences the curse would have, how far into madness he would descend. His crimes were unthinkable, but what of Ellesime’s punishment? His life is failing, his desperation grows, his cruelty is beyond comprehension. 

I pray for release and yet I see the lights flickering. A few final figures rush through the halls and then they are gone. It is still, _too_ still. Has he abandoned me? 

If only we could have lived together forever, beneath the bright green leaves and bright blue sky, with him smiling at me in the glow of the sun.


	2. Musings of a Troubled Tiefling

Chaos. From its churning depths I was spawned, a herald borne upon the wings of destiny to flutter aimlessly through the lands, spreading pandemonium like seeds on the field. What point is there in fighting against the ever-shifting sands? To struggle against the tide means to drown, you must float to the surface, be cast among the waves. And so I am, merely a drop of foam tossed from the crest of the churning waters, scattered and blown upon the winds of time. 

Everything decays, falls to pieces about me, armies fall, cities burn, creatures die and yet more are born each day. Ah, what a chaotic world we live in, mere pawns in the higher struggles between the gods, mere puppets of kings and barons as serfs tire in endless labor, what is the meaning? What is the purpose to this toil, this struggle? 

I do not intend to seem sullen, as it is quite the contrary, I enjoy life to the fullest my young body can endure. My tender words woo the hearts of starry-eyed maidens, my appearance and presence evoke fear and mistrust, and yet my fame grows in this strange land. Women come to me, dissatisfied with the pleasure they have derived from their dullard husbands, seeking the vibrance that only chaos can bestow. Then their daughters pull me into their eager arms, crying out in ecstasy as I please them in ways they had not even known of...yes, I enjoy life. 

Yet, I am finding myself more unsettled with each passing day, and for the first time I have experienced the weight of cares bearing down upon my flighty soul. Dark words hang on my tongue and in my ears, dampening my spirits and casting a shadow across my days.

I approached her only to lighten her broken heart, to mend the tear in the fabric of her soul, and yet I find it is my heart which weighs heaviest now. My raven, so terrible, so beautiful, the shadow hiding behind her eyes called to me. It was my challenge, to lift her spirits, one I set for myself presuming that once accomplished I could drift on through the realms, and yet I am tethered to the spot! Her rare smile haunt my thoughts and even her harshest words bring a smile to my duplicitous lips...she sees through this humble bard’s act. I...I care for her...deeply. it boggles my mind and chases away sleep’s gentle embrace. Instead her arms grasp me tightly, her hands smooth my tangled hair as I caress her soft cheek. Her hungry lips search for mine and I shiver as her cool flesh presses against me.

There is no laughing, no clever words to disguise my true feelings, my stomach is in my throat and I am unable to utter a single word. I want this woman to be mine, and I hers...I can hear her whisper into my ear and my pulse begins to race. A single statement, a hammer to the crumbling wall that once surrounded my heart.

 

“We are having a child...” 

 

Chaos. The tiny hand of a small infant, tightly grasping the tip of my index finger. My wife, glancing up at me as she holds the child... our child...our eyes meet and I smile broadly. I have found what I was searching for in my seemingly endless drift upon destiny’s wings. 

This wanderer has come home. And home he will remain.


	3. Farsight

Cold walls imprison me, and yet I see beyond their heavy stones, past the thick mortar and dusty hue. The bluest skies, the swaying trees, the winding streams, how I long to hold them within my sight and nothing more, to see but _one_ image in my weary mind. Yet I am cursed... I see all and yet...I see nothing. What use is sight if all is beyond reach?

 

So the years pass me by, I glance down and I see the hand of another, a young girl in some other plane. She admires her delicate fingers as I turn mine over, she raises them to stroke a peice of hair from her face as I lift mine to cover my eyes...and yet I see. Thousands of people passing by, worlds upon worlds crashing around me as I press my bony fingertips against my eyelids, there is no darkness for me. I stand alone in this cell and yet I am never truly alone. There is in but one place I see no shadow, no mark of the other planes...in his steps. I feel his fingers prying into my eyes, ripping my flesh from my bones as he digs deeper and deeper, I scream in agony. Yet I awake, healed and refreshed...it was merely a nightmare, it must have been. His place is so cold, none in the planes will share his place, none will share the chill of his grave.

 

Am I crazy? Am I deranged? I am magically deviant? That is what I am told, I have been here so long I can not think otherwise. My father feared me and what I saw, I could see the blood on his hands, I could see the spirits haunting his steps. My poor mother clutching the gaping wound in her throat...I would close my eyes but they would never leave me, they _could_ never leave him. I asked him what he had done, I cried to the gods to take away my undeserved punishment, and I saw the fear in his eyes. Surely, he was sentenced to death for his crimes. How I wish I had been judged the same, even the abyss would be a welcome escape from this cursed existence. 

 

He knows I am sane, he knows I have done no wrong...yet he keeps me here. He tells me things sometimes, things that frighten me. I try to get away but he keeps me still and covers my eyes, and for that one instant I see nothing but his hands. Cold, long, delicate hands that are so strong. None other linger where he stands, no other hands rest near his. He removes them and I look up into his eyes, the icy sterility of their cerulean depths fill my sight and I see pain so tangible I could almost taste it on my tongue, if only all my senses were as strong as the one. Then the pain comes and I scream...oh gods, do I scream.

 

Yet another comes, I can see her stepping through the planes, she walks alone as he does. I see the murder in her eyes as she walks past my cell, death strides alongside her. She comes for the girl, the young flower so wilted by the ‘experiments’ he has performed on her frail body and mind. Imoen was her name, I believe, she was nice until he touched her as he has touched me...he is as much a vampire as _that_ woman.

The Child of Bhaal stirs me in my ‘rest’, she beckons me to fight for my freedom as a poor lamb led to the slaughter, how foolish does she believe me to be? It matters not. I will attack, I will use my will against his, I see the look of surprise turn to a venomous sneer and yet I barrage him with spells. I see the others fall, I feel myself weaken, he turns and I see nothing but cerulean...cold, clear depths. So much pain...then darkness.

 

I see no more.


	4. No Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is unabashed Aran Linvail alternate-ending fluff. I'm still a fan of him and Saemon, I won't lie.

She glanced out the open window and could see the sun begin to disappear behind the line of the city walls. It was nearly time...they would arrive soon.

 

A sigh brought her attention back to the figure laying beside her. A strong hand reached for her chin and pulled it away from the direction of the window. She scanned over his face, a handsome one, tanned and wolf-like with a few white scars scattered across his sharp cheek and chin. Piercing blue eyes looked back at her, darting back and forth beneath pale brows. 

“Is something troubling you?” he asked, his voice smooth and calm as always. He was inscrutable. Since the moment they had first met his demeanor had never changed, his control was something that was invaluable to his profession. No fear, no weakness, but most of all, no pity. That was what he had told her once. The Shadow Thieves were brutal murderers, cold-hearted criminals with personal profit central to their very existence. Aran was the greatest of them, and of course the most untrustworthy. At least, that was what she had thought the first night she walked through the well-guarded door to his private inner sanctum.

“No, I was just watching the sunset,” she replied, smiling wanly at him and pulling his hand into her own. She felt the calluses on his palms from the daggers and swords, his dextrous fingers wrapped between her own but his gaze remained fixed on her. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You cannot lie to me.” 

She felt her pulse quicken for a moment, but she quickly regained control. I cannot ruin this, they are coming...I must... “It’s nothing...I...just...” she mumbled, her eyes moving from his and staring blankly at his bare chest.

“Yes?” he asked, pulling her closer to him and wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She glanced back into his eyes and felt them boring into her, how could she lie to him? It was dangerous game she was playing. “I was wrong about you Aran Linvail, very wrong,” she murmured, brushing a stray peice of blonde hair from his face, his hair had grown shaggy since the start of all the troubles with the rival guild. He barely had time to sleep, he spent days and nights awake, meeting with the various guild masters for their reports on vampire activity. 

He smiled at her and pulled her closer to him, his warm breath sweeping across her face. “Many are, my love, many are.” She felt his heartbeat against her chest, steady and smooth as always, but...what had he called her?

“What?” she asked, surprised, “what did you call me?” She pulled back from him. His thin lips parted in a wide grin.

“What did you think, silly girl, that you were a mere distraction? I have plenty of those...but they certainly never share _this_ bed.” He traced a finger over her nose and lips. Her mind was racing, he couldn’t be serious. She had grown more fond of him that she was willing to admit, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that he was surely using her. 

“Is it really that surprising? I had thought you might feel the same way...”

“No, I...I don’t know what I was thinking...I..,” she stuttered. She thought he was an evil man who was only pretending to care...she had thought they were merely enjoying...company...she had thought this would be the easiest way to do her bidding. She _had_ to find Imoen, what sort of choice was this, between Shadow Thieves and a guild of vampires? 

She looked in his eyes and saw something she had never bothered to look for before. Aran Linvail...not the Shadow Master...not the criminal...the man.

But it was too late. Her companions were in her company, they were coming with her, if she was not obeyed then they would surely be killed. And Imoen...poor Imoen, she would remain in that madman’s grip forever. Agreements had been made, she had cast her die and there would be no turning back, but how could she?! Her mind fought with her conscience, her conscience with her heart, she laid there and held him, unable to move. The room grew dark as the sun finally fell beneath the horizon, it was nearly night. She had to. It was time.

 

She felt Aran’s breath slow and saw his eyes gently close, she moved in his arms to reposition herself and slipped her hand beneath her head, beneath the silken pillows. Cold steel met warm fingertips, she gripped the dagger and kept watch of his face. She ran her hand across his chest a final time, feeling it rise and fall with his breathing. 

She plunged the dagger between his ribs and watched him spasm in surprise, but he would not struggle long, the toxin would work quickly and efficiently. She clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him, and was surprised to feel that he didn’t struggle against her. He laid there, unmoving, she felt his lips move against her tightly clamped hand...to kiss it. She looked away. A few painfully long minutes later, his breathing stopped. He was gone.

She jumped out of the bed, her eyes welling up with tears, and quicky strapped her leather armor back onto her body and grabbed her weapons. A few shouts and cries from outside the door told her that the others had arrived, there would be no mercy for the Shadow Thieves. Every single one would be slaughtered, their lifeblood sucked from their bodies and their empty shells resurrected to serve in her ranks. She pushed through the door and stabbed the guard outside it through the kidneys, then leaped past as he fell crumpled to the ground. 

“Mara, where are you?!” she heard a man’s voice cry. It was Anomen, the young cleric from the Copper Coronet. She quickly dispatched two more thieves who rushed towards her, Aran had taught her a few moves that were quick and deadly. Aran...

“Did you kill him?” Anomen asked expectantly. She could see the jealousy that had been there since the first day of her plans to grow closer to Aran, the jealousy that was painfully visible every time she had left her companions in the inn and departed for the guild hall. 

“Of course,” she snapped. “How are our numbers?”

“There are too many, Mara, I don’t know if we can kill them all.” His youthful face was flushed and covered with beads of sweat, and flecks of blood were scattered across his grimy skin. 

“Can’t the vampires deal with them sufficiently?” She motioned for him to follow her as she crept through the hallways leading from the Shadow Master’s quarters. 

Anomen shook his head sharply and gasped for breath. “No, the Thieves have wooden bolts fitted in their crossbows, they are taking out the vampires more quickly than we can defend them.”

Mara’s mind worked furiously as they marched through the hallways and into the open tavern room of the underground guild. She was greeted with the sound of battle and could see dozens of black-hooded thieves battling with vampires, along with her companions. Keldorn had cleaved off the head of one with his sword, and was stepping back to help Minsc, who was hacking his way through a sea of black hoods. 

“Mara, you must aid us, the vampires are no use against these...bolts!” an accented voice cried, and Mara turned to see Jaheira furiously defending herself with her scimitar against a barrage of attacks. She saw vampires falling with small wooden sticks lodged in their chests, howling in agony and vaporizing into the night air. She gripped her own sword and surged into the mass of thieves, her agile body evading swords and daggers while her own struck mortal blows into the backs and necks of her assailants. She paid no attention to the steel grazing against her armor and skin. Her immortal blood surged within her as the warm blood of her victims splashed against her skin. A fleck splattered on her lip and she involuntarily ran her tongue across it, tasting the metallic richness and sensing it attract the darker portions of her soul. She was a Bhaalspawn, she would kill them all.

Blood ran thick across the floor as her and her companions fought, Anomen was healing them as best he could and finally after what seemed like an eternity they began to gain the upper hand. The thieves were weakening and their number diminishing, while a new group of vampires flooded through the open doorway and into the fray. The group led their way through the hall, killing all that came in their path, and finally reached the upper levels of the guild hall. Mara ran up the final flights of stairs with Keldorn, Minsc, Anomen, and Jaheira behind her. 

“We won!” Anomen cried, “glorious victory! How sweet it is, to cleanse such corruption from the streets of Athkatla, no more will the Shadow Thieves be feared in Amn!”

“Shh Anomen,” Jaheira snapped, “do not be so sure! There may still be enemies about, I do not believe such victory comes so easily.” She glanced around the dingy upper floor of the hall, the utilitarian barracks of the guild. A soft creak caught her attention, and she snapped up to look at a far door opening. “Mara...” she murmured, “I thought...”

But Mara wasn’t listening. Her eyes were fixed on the figure striding through the doorway, flanked on both sides by four assassins, and two other figures she knew well. Mae’var and Renal Bloodscalp. But the one leading them was what made time stop. Her heart surged up into her throat, choking her attempts to speak. She saw the bright blue eyes, she saw the thin lips parted in a wide grin.

 

“Aran...” she gasped, “I...you...”

 

He chuckled lightly and withdrew a dagger from his waistband and tossed it at her feet. “Rather clever, love, but you should have known that a man of my position would be immune to most poisons.” His grin did not reach his ice-blue eyes. “Besides, I always keep a strong healing potion nearby.” Mara’s mouth dropped open in surprise, the man had told her that it would be sure to kill him almost immediately, that there was no immunity...

“He told you there was no immunity, I presume?” Aran asked, as if reading her thoughts. He laughed again, a more hollow, chilling laugh. 

“Who do you think supplies our stock? I believe you two have met before.” The beside him threw back his hood to reveal the apothecary who sold her the poison. Her mind was spinning, she felt faint...everything was falling apart, where was Bodhi, none of this was right.

Aran kept staring at her, his eyes piercing her own. “A Shadow Thief never trusts his friends, his guildmates...” He made a quick motion to his assassins and they began to stride confidently towards her companions. “Certainly never a pretty face.” 

“It is as a I told you...no pity.”


End file.
